


Mixtape

by eyesfixedonthesun22



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 80's Music, Drinking, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lifeguard Billy Hargrove, Marijuana, Masturbation, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Soft Billy Hargrove, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesfixedonthesun22/pseuds/eyesfixedonthesun22
Summary: Getting to know Billy Hargrove over the course of your senior year.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	1. Round and Round by Ratta 1984: The Arcade

**Author's Note:**

> This 7 part series is structured in the form a mixtape or mixed tape to symbolize different events and moods throughout the story. Each song will not only have lyrics worked directly into the chapter but can set the overall tone while reading. The release dates of the song are include in the chapter but are not reflective of the time passing in the story. All but the last song are from the 80′s, but the last song is really what inspired this entire story. Both reader and Billy are of legal age. The story starts just before senior year and ends about year later.

The first time you see him is the last summer weekend before senior year starts. 

You’re at The Palace Arcade supervising your younger brother and his friend group. You usually made a big fuss about it, but after the strange events that had plagued Hawkins, keeping an extra close eye on family didn’t seem so odd or tedious.

The sensitive skin of the back of your sunburnt thighs sticks and pulls on the cracked vinyl of the stool you’re perched on. You’d played a few games before resigning to daydream out the window. The arcade was sticky hot and put you in a tempestuous mood. Someone had helplessly propped the door open with a chair to let in some breeze but it did nothing but swirl the humid, sweat-soaked air around. 

A cobalt blue Camaro whipped into the parking lot, the driver clearly not obeying the lanes of safety yellow on the asphalt, and screeched to a halt just outside the window. 

You recognized the fire-red hair of the girl who got out. She was a friend of your brother’s. Max. You wave a gentle smile at her before the driver catches your eye. The music from his stereo pulses so loudly out of the car, you can easily make out the lyrics to the Ratta song. 

_ Round and round _

_ With love we'll find a way just give it time _

_ Round and round _

_ What comes around goes around _

_ I'll tell you why _

Billy Hargrove. 

You’d known Max had an older brother from your own brother’s clipped descriptions. Searching your memory, your tried to remember what adjectives they’d used. Asshole. Jerk. And something about an earring? 

The boy’s eyes caught yours as you stared. His facial expression hardens for a moment before scanning your body. Sitting on the arcade stool, you feel oddly exposed. A smirk settles on his face before he bites his lip as if in contemplation. 

Holy shit. 

He nods his head once, turns up the stereo impossibly louder, and peels out of the parking lot the same way he came. 

“What a dick.” One of the polyester clad employees says, startling you out of your stupor. 

“Yeah.” You add lamely. “What a dick.” 

* * *

The lights to your bedroom are off all except for a faint pink glow coming from a nightlight in the corner. The house is silent but for the gentle hum of the fan propped in your open window. It’s late. You glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to your bed. 

Very late. 

Late enough to be categorized as early for some. Sleep seemed a lost cause. You could feel the exhaustion in your bones but the anxiety in your head had hit the override switch. Tomorrow, classes started. You’d even managed to pry your brother away from the arcade at the time your parents suggested. First school night of the year. 

It was hot. No.  _ You _ were hot. 

The day’s oppressive dampness had diminished as the sun finally set, but some heat still lingered preventing your sleep. It tingled and pricked across your skin; demanding and ornery, drawing your thoughts back to the boy you’d seen earlier that day. 

Billy Hargrove. 

Boy didn’t seem an apt descriptor. There was so much about him that oozes of a man already come of age. It made your own 18th birthday just weeks prior seem a joke. There was something about the way he’d stared you down, the glass of the arcade window doing little to diminish the intensity. It set something in you aflame. 

“Cocky sonofabitch.” You angrily hissed to no one but your empty room. 

And yet that’s exactly what had done it. The cockiness that dripped from him was intoxicating. Sure he was a pretty face, but you could tell from the tilt of his head that he was trouble. Trouble that had somehow burrowed its way under your skin and settled in between your legs; humid and sticky all it’s own. 

Resigning that nothing would put you to sleep until the fire was quelled, you rip your sheets off and snatch the small radio off your bedside table; turning it to one of your favorite stations. It should be enough distraction to block out the pregnant silence of your family home while buffering the sounds yet to come just enough if anyone were walking to the bathroom and hesitated outside your door. 

The family photo on your dresser gets turned to face the wall. You grab your favorite throw pillow (the one with a textured fabric) and set it atop another; building a short pillow tower. 

After stripping your delicate sleep shorts off, you straddle the pillows. The textured pattern on the throw pillow sends a jolt through your middle. Your hands roam down to cup and pinch your breasts while your hips drag gentle thrusts atop your pillow perch. Each push and pull presses your panties further against your lips; collecting the now pooling wetness. The fabric delivered friction makes you clench and whimper; increasing your speed. The radio plays in the background. 

_ Lookin' at you, lookin' at me _

_ The way you move, you know it's easy to see _

_ The neon light's on me tonight _

_ I've got a way, we're gonna prove it tonight _

You imagine the pressure below you is the clothed crotch of Billy. His firm body beneath yours as you dry hump him for your own pleasure. He’s staring at you with that same smug face from earlier in the day. You grope your breasts with more vigor than usual; imagining he’d be rough and demanding. Your hips press deeper into the pillows below you as if you can feel the ridge of his newly hardened cock spurring you on. He bites his bottom lip while his large palms drag you down against his body. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” 

You bite the back of your hand to stifle the moans as you clench and spasm in your childhood bed. The radio covers any heavy breathing you’d been unable to smother. Your eyes open to the same oppressively muggy room now made worse by your panting release.

Billy is nowhere to be seen.


	2. Rock You Like a Hurricane by Scorpions 1980: The Party

“What?!”

“I said, it’s pretty loud!” Your best friend yells to you from the driveway. The white split level ranch is practically shaking from the volume of the music coming from the house party. Karen. No Kaitlyn. Maybe Katie? Someone with a K-name’s parents had gone out of town to who knows where and decided to hold the get together you had just pulled up to. 

In Hawkins, it didn’t matter if parties were or weren’t your thing. You went. The high school was small enough that everyone who heard about a party always seemed to show up simply to have something to break the routine of boredom in the small town. 

You scan the rows of cars parked along the street and freeze in the doorway. Parked four cars down from your best friends was a blue camaro that you’ve come to have radar for. He was here. Your heart beat out short, palpitating rhythms that your brain was unable to categorize as excitement or panic. 

You push through the packed living room of the party into the kitchen to fill a cup of whatever alcohol was available. Mixed punch looked the most tolerable. After gathering your drinks, the two of you make your way to the backyard where the music seems to be coming from. Layered below the pounding music comes chanting. 

Twenty! Twenty-One! Twenty-two! 

A small crowd is gathered around a keg in the back corner of the lawn; evidently the source of the chanting.  _ Crap _ . 

There he is. Billy Hargrove stands like a proud king next to the keg from which he just dismounted. You want to roll your eyes. On principle you despised games of machismo and assertion of who’s dick was bigger. You were ready to pry yourself away and then his eyes meet yours. 

School had started a month ago. The sweltering summer heat had faded into confused days of mixed weather. Midday when the sun comes out beaming, you found yourself still breaking a sweat as you walked home from school past the Hawkins Pool. The mornings and evenings, when the sun was gone, were cool and crisp like they are now. You suppress a shiver but you know all too well it has nothing to do with the coming autumn weather. 

Despite the chill in the air, Billy stands across the circle with his shirt and jacket open nearly to his navel. His skin is still clinging to the vestiges of summer golden bronze. His necklaces reflect bits of light everywhere from the bonfire crackling nearby. Just like always, a hunger is ignited when you see him. He hasn’t said a word to you all this time. Just passing glances and knowing smirks. Then again, all that could be in your head. 

There was no mistaking the eye contact tonight. He stands across the clearing from you, keg abandoned to the new challenger. He pays them no nevermind knowing his title safe, eyes locked on yours. He swipes the dipping beer foam with the back of his hand. It’s sinful and deliborate. You trace the path as the stray droplets carve a path down his neck, past the ridge of his collarbone, and out of sight under his shirt. 

You turn on your heel, abandoning your friend to some other conversation she’s started up, and head back inside. There was something far too disarming about his stare. It made you want to scratch your skin off from the burning tingle it incited. It was pitiful, you thought. A stranger shouldn’t trigger this visceral of a reaction. There was no way he knew he’d been the subject of every single one of your daydreams while you touched yourself ever since that day towards the end of summer. 

It took you a frustrating amount of frantic searching to find the bathroom, only to discover the line was multiple bodies deep. Resigning to your failure you raced upstairs hoping to find a different story. No such luck. You test doors tentatively, hoping not to intrude on any couples in the midst of alcohol infused passion. The final door at the end of the hall is all that’s left. You jiggle the knob and open to the master bedroom. Perhaps Katie was hoping this room would remain a safe haven. Seaking a sliver of quiet, you slam the door shut and click the flimsy lock closed. 

A cursory glance around the room and you spot your target. Bingo. The master bedroom has an en-suite bathroom. You search around in a couple of the drawers and find a washcloth to douse in cool water. Pressed against the back of your neck, it doesn’t do much to alleviate the warmth that’s overtaken your body. You sit on the toilet lid attempting to purge your mind of the neverending stream of filth. Why does he have to act like that, you think to yourself.  _ Why do I like it? _ Is the response. 

Your thoughts seem set on torturing you, wetness pooling between your legs. You curse yourself for your wild and vivid imagination. Closing your eyes it almost feels real when your fingers trace from your knee to your inner thigh. You can nearly convince yourself it’s Billy tracing invisible patterns on the sensitive flesh. You press your middle finger against the cotton of your panties right in the cleft between your lips. It’s saturated and warm. You trace the smooth channel over the cloth, building the wet spot. You have no doubt if you opened your eyes and peered down the scrap of fabric would be transparent. 

You thought the little bit of pressure and touch would be enough until you get home. Instead, it had simply made things worse. Your dominant hand tugs the undergarment aside and your exposed skin feels the cool air for the first time. You lean back against the toilet’s water tank and place a foot on the edge of the bathtub beside it. With your legs spread wide your middle and index circle your clit before dipping inside. 

Each thrust of your fingers is Billy’s heavy cock pressing into you while he fucks you up against the wall. You’d snuck into this bedroom upstairs because he just couldn’t wait to have you. He hadn’t even slammed the door before his fingers were up your skirt. The little lock on Katie’s parents bedroom nearly forgotten because he ached to be buried inside you. 

“Been teasing me all night, sweetheart,” he mumbled against the crook of your neck before biting the sensitive flesh there. You imagined he’d want you to descend the stairs marked and branded as his own; clear evidence of how he’d claimed you. 

Push and pull. Drags and stuttered thrusts. 

He’d push deeper still while groping and palming your breasts. All it would take would be a couple swipes and circles around your clit for you to come undone around him. Clenching and panting-

Your eyes crash open. Gentle footsteps come from the bedroom. You yank your panties back in place, the fabric sensitive on your still electric core. Staring in the mirror you rearrange your skirt. The blush and warmth across your chest and neck couldn’t be avoided. 

“Who the fuck is in here? I just wanted to piss in peace.”

The last word dies in your throat. Standing with his back to you at the dresser is a tangle of curls you’d recognize anywhere. 

“Didn’t know girls like you said words like piss?” He didn’t turn around but instead uses the mirror to smirk at you. If you’re blushing it wouldn’t matter much. Your post orgasmic glow was already out in full force. His words shock you a bit and distract you from his actions. He’s pensively going through the jewelry box on what you presume is Katie’s mom’s side of the dresser. “Kinda hot though.”

“Sorry?”

“The cussing. Coming out of a mouth that pretty. You wouldn’t expect it,” He takes out the single diamond stud in his ear and puts it in his back pocket. He holds up two different dangling earrings of different styles, shrugs, and then puts one in the now vacant hole. The black stone dangles from his lobe in a way he deems satisfactory. He finally turns to face you. “That’s why it’s so sinful. It’s unexpected from an innocent girl.”

“You don’t know me.” You wonder if he’d still find you so innocent knowing your fingers had just been burried inside your cunt thinking of him fucking you in this very bedroom. 

“You’re in my fifth period.” He says nonchalantly. As if that gives him all seeing knowledge of you. 

“You’re also in my first and second period. You wouldn’t know that because you never show up.” The wolfish smile makes another appearance. 

“She’s got bite this one.” He says to no one in particular; striding slowly towards you. He looks you in the eyes only after lazily trailing them across your entire body. His gait and gaze are predatory, like an animal on the hunt. 

“She does.” You assert as firmly as you can manage. Your voice hitches ever so slightly. If he notices, he doesn’t let on. 

“You ready to head back to the party, baby?” He’s opened the door for you in a way that’s quite gentlemanly even if his eyes were anything but. He even licks his lips as if to really get under your skin. The music is louder now with the door ajar. 

_ Here I am.  _

_ Rock you like a hurricane _

_ Here I am.  _

_ Rock you like a hurricane _

“Fuck you, Billy.” Your tone is light and there’s no weight behind the blow. He seems to know it too. 

“Fuck you too, darling. Let’s go get fucked.”


	3. Panama by Van Halen 1984: The Ride Home

The hallways echo the sound of your sluggish footsteps off the barren walls. It was late; far later than you had ever willingly stayed in the building. Tonight wasn’t exactly voluntary per say. You’d needed some assistance with a final paper and the meeting with your English teacher had run late.  The sparse windows were already dark with the bleak midwinter sky. You dreaded your walk home. 

Hawkins in January was miserable. At high noon, temperatures  _ may  _ break just above the freezing marker. You sat near the window in your science lab and begged the sluggish mercury of the thermometer just outside the window to travel higher. You never got your wish. Evenings were worse but the added windchill and lake effect snow days were worse still. Your best friend had offered to linger behind and give you a ride home. You’re sure she had tried to wait. She was a good friend. As the minutes ticked away in your meeting, you had accepted her parking spot would be empty when you finally braved the chill. 

Despite your heavy boots, your toes were damp just as you reached the football stadium. You weren't even a quarter of the way home. You shook off a glove to check your watch. Sighing internally, you hoped your family would have dinner saved for you. A gust of wind whips around you tearing the knitted fabric out of your hand and out of sight under the bleachers. 

“Fuck!” You shout and stumble after your glove. The winter wind seems to steal and swallow your words leaving behind an icy ache in your lungs. You were huffing by the time you reached the shelter under the aluminum bench seats. 

“Looking for this?” 

He holds up the glove in his own bare hand. The other plucks the cigarette from his lips. You thank him, shake the snow off your glove, and plunge your hand back inside. You’re aching to get home but find your feet glued to the spot. 

“What are you doing here, Billy?” You shift your weight back and forth, hoping to stomp some life into the frozen digits. “It’s fucking freezing and you’re out here in your letterman and bare hands.”

“Oh you know…” he smirks at you before taking another drag off his cigarette. It was the most noncommittal answer and yet he acted as though the question was answered. “You’re the one that looks cold.”

“Well forgive me; walking home mid-winter isn’t exactly at the top of my list.” Your sass seems to make him smile. 

“C’mon,” he tosses the smoking butt into the snow with a hiss. “Lemme give you a ride home.” 

The camaro is parked illegally in one of the “teacher of the month” spots in the faculty parking lot. You stifle a giggle knowing damn well Billy has been told off for doing this exact thing before. 

You find yourself thankful that the car blocks the bite and sting of the wind. The damp that had snuck it’s way inside your boots seemed to have chilled you to the bone regardless. 

“You’re cold, sweetheart.” It’s not a question so you can’t refute it. You’d be lying anyway. “Take my jacket. The heat takes forever in this thing.” 

Before you can try to protest, he’s shrugged off his letterman jacket and drapes it across your lap. You finger the grey and green patches on the leather. 

“You’re gonna get-” 

“I’ll be fine,” he insists. He has a light jean jacket on apparently layered under the letterman. 

“You lettered?” You say with disbelief. 

He chuckles. “Screw you, babe.” 

He peels out of the parking lot and onto the snow covered roads. As you’ve come to expect, he has the radio turned up. The heavy metal ring on his middle finger taps a staccato rhythm to the guitar in between shifting gears. You take the comfortable silence to study him. Up close like this you can see the blonde hair smattered on his upper lip. Lips that are currently mouthing the words along to the song on the radio. 

_ Don't you know she's coming home with me? _

_ You'll lose her in the turn _

_ I'll get her! _

_ Panama, Panama _

_ Panama, Panama _

Your fingers itch closer to the apex of your thighs under the jacket. Little did he know you were warm as can be but it was some internal fire, stoked from the inside and nothing to do with his gifted letterman. You wanted to act on your feelings; be the bold woman that Billy seemed to bring out. 

“The next right?”

His voice startles you far more than it should. You squint out the windshield. The headlights only illuminate a small patch of the forested roads ahead of you. Unfortunately, Billy was right. You recognized the the approaching neighborhood as your own. 

* * *

You still haven’t gotten used to the strength of the vibrating massager. Each time you use it that first contact of the vibrating plastic between your legs jolts you. You’d driven to Chicago on a trip with some friends a couple months back. One of the evenings you’d snuck out for a walk around the block and slipped into a seedy sex shop. You’d left with the small vibrating massager hidden under your jacket; too afraid to suffer the chiding from your friends.

The initial shock has passed and the vibrations feel pleasant now. Your mind wanders back to the drive home. In this version, your hand leaves the safe confines underneath his letterman jacket and trace patterns on his thigh. You palm him through the stonewashed denim. 

“What are you playing at, sweetheart?”

You’d be sultry and bold; instead of answering you’d pull down his zipper and pull out his hardening length. He’d stare at you in awe never suspecting someone like you to take control. 

You imagine saying, “Eyes on the road, Billy,” before taking his cock into your mouth. 

“No one tells me what to do-,” His voice would cut off when you circle the head of his cock with the tip of your tongue. You wonder how he’d sound. What breathy moans and filthy curses would spill from him in such a vulnerable state? You imagine the speedometer would pulse a bit higher when you took him deep in the back of your throat or sucked him particularly hard. 

“Touch yourself, baby. Touch yourself while you suck me off.” 

You press the vibrator into your wetness, it’s tip entering and stretching you. Your hips buck off the mattress. You wished the vibrations were deeper like the rumble of the Camaro’s engine. Instead you had to work from memory to imagine the visceral feel of the cool of the leather seats seeping under your thighs though your denim. The car smelled like Billy. Though you didn’t see it, you were certain he’d spray his cologne in the car. It’s spicy musk mixed with the smoke from his cigarettes and (you suspected) late night joints. 

Your pulse quickens and jumps. You wish you’d had the guts to act on this particular fantasy. Your core soaks as you think of yourself crouched over the gear shift bobbing up and down on his cock; sandwiched between his chest and the steering column. One hand would pump the bits of him you couldn’t get with your mouth and the other would be below the band of your jeans deep in your center. The music from the radio would rage on. 

_ Yeah, we're runnin' a little bit hot tonight _

_ I can barely see the road from the heat comin' off of it _

_ Ah, you reach down, between my legs _

_ Ease the seat back _

You were close. Though your bedroom smelled nothing of Billy’s car, you were so fully immersed in your imagination it didn’t matter. You alternated the vibrator’s path from tight circles around your sensitive nub to firm presses up against your g-spot. The vibrations spurred your sex clouded brain deeper into the doctored memory. 

Billy growls a brazen, feral sound as you push him towards his release. He’s struggling to keep his eyes on the road. The adrenaline from your lips wrapped tight around him and the speed of the car racing through the back roads of Hawkins would be like a drug to him; your own personal speedball of pleasure. 

“Fuck, darling. Just like that.” His hips lift off the leather into your waiting throat. The engine purrs hard, spurring your fingers against your own center. “Just. Like. That.” 

His hips stutter with a final trio of thrusts paired with each word as he releases his warmth and you take it down. Your own pleasure crests and you moan against his still sensitive length. It takes you a moment to recover from your bliss but you clean every bit of his cum from his cock before tucking him back in his pants. 

“Look at that. I knew you were a good girl but seeing you clean off my cock like that after taking my load really proves your a  _ good _ girl.” 

The subtleties of his tone wouldn’t be lost on you. In your daydreams, Billy was always rough around the edges in the sexiest of ways. Your vibrator lies abandoned on your sheets, still buzzing away. You’re so resistant to open your eyes. That’s always the worst part; coming back to reality. You try to hold onto this fantasy a bit longer but it’s pushed aside remembering how Billy waved an almost cute wave at you after he dropped you off; his letterman still clutched in your hands.


End file.
